Rainbow Valley eBook

“Adam was the dearest little chicken, Miss West.
He was just a little golden ball. He would
run up to me and peck out of my hand. And he
was handsome when he grew up, too—­white
as snow, with such a beautiful curving white tail,
though Mary Vance said it was too short. He
knew his name and always came when I called him—­he
was a very intelligent rooster. And Aunt Martha
had no right to kill him. He was mine.
It wasn’t fair, was it, Miss West?”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Rosemary decidedly.
“Not a bit fair. I remember I had a pet
hen when I was a little girl. She was such a
pretty little thing—­all golden brown and
speckly. I loved her as much as I ever loved
any pet. She was never killed—­she
died of old age. Mother wouldn’t have
her killed because she was my pet.”

“If my mother had been living she wouldn’t
have let Adam be killed,” said Faith.
“For that matter, father wouldn’t have
either, if he’d been home and known of it.
I’m sure he wouldn’t, Miss West.”

“I’m sure, too,” said Rosemary.
There was a little added flush on her face.
She looked rather conscious but Faith noticed nothing.

“Was it very wicked of me not to tell Mr.
Perry his coat-tails were scorching?” she asked
anxiously.

“Oh, terribly wicked,” answered Rosemary,
with dancing eyes. “But I would
have been just as naughty, Faith—­I
wouldn’t have told him they were scorching—­and
I don’t believe I would ever have been a bit
sorry for my wickedness, either.”

“Una thought I should have told him because
he was a minister.”

“Dearest, if a minister doesn’t behave
as a gentleman we are not bound to respect his coat-tails.
I know I would just have loved to see Jimmy
Perry’s coat-tails burning up. It must
have been fun.”

Both laughed; but Faith ended with a bitter little
sigh.

“Well, anyway, Adam is dead and I am never
going to love anything again.”

“Don’t say that, dear. We miss so
much out of life if we don’t love. The
more we love the richer life is—­even if
it is only some little furry or feathery pet.
Would you like a canary, Faith—­a little
golden bit of a canary? If you would I’ll
give you one. We have two up home.”

“Oh, I would like that,” cried Faith.
“I love birds. Only—­would Aunt
Martha’s cat eat it? It’s so tragic
to have your pets eaten. I don’t think
I could endure it a second time.”

“If you hang the cage far enough from the wall
I don’t think the cat could harm it. I’ll
tell you just how to take care of it and I’ll
bring it to Ingleside for you the next time I come
down.”

To herself, Rosemary was thinking,

“It will give every gossip in the Glen something
to talk of, but I will not care. I want
to comfort this poor little heart.”

Faith was comforted. Sympathy and understanding
were very sweet. She and Miss Rosemary sat on
the old pine until the twilight crept softly down
over the white valley and the evening star shone over
the gray maple grove. Faith told Rosemary all
her small history and hopes, her likes and dislikes,
the ins and outs of life at the manse, the ups and
downs of school society. Finally they parted
firm friends.